


your light eclipsed the moon tonight

by bruised_fruit



Series: headcanon compliant [15]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: D/s dynamic, F/M, Fingering, Impact Play, Implied Dysphoria, Light Humiliation, Oral Sex, Praise, Stolen Century, also it's stupidly lovey-dovey... you have been warned, like five minutes of aftercare (which is all dav can withstand lol), they are dorks and they love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22965124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruised_fruit/pseuds/bruised_fruit
Summary: The Light is secured. That’s all that matters. /// “Imagine we’re on the kitchen table,” Lucretia whispers.
Relationships: Davenport/The Director | Lucretia
Series: headcanon compliant [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653871
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	your light eclipsed the moon tonight

**Author's Note:**

> title from "electrolite" by rem. i listened to the song on loop around when i wrote my first (still unposted...) davenport/lucretia longfic two years ago, so it has a special place in my dav/lucy-loving heart

The Light is secured. That’s all that matters. 

They celebrate on the deck every time, no matter the cost to secure it. The party is loud somehow, and everyone’s alive and here; Merle dancing on a table of course, Magnus somehow drunk already, Lup and Taako talking seriously by the far edge of the deck (the conversation turns boisterous when Barry joins them, his denim transmuted briefly into velvet and back), and Lucretia, sitting by Davenport in the corner and sketching in one of her journals. 

Davenport takes a sip of his wine and surveys the scene. For such a small crew, they always know how to make something that should be lowkey into a big affair. Decorations, food, music, it’s all a little silly, but they deserve the celebration after spending so much of the cycle working their asses off. And the plane is saved. One small setback for the Hunger, millions of lives saved.

“Sir?” Lucretia asks, and Davenport turns, filling with nervous anticipation at the title. No one can hear them over the shitty prog rock from cycle 28 Taako insisted on playing for the party, but formalities have long fallen by the wayside unless she’s up to something. Her expression thrills him further, too much, though it’s not like anyone’s paying any attention to the two of them, the wallflower and killjoy at the outskirts of a party too small for anyone to really have any fun. He collects himself and keeps his face neutral, tilting his head. 

“It’s kind of noisy here, I was hoping to go in for a-- break. Would you help me carry in my supplies?”

He balks, however slight, and she picks up on it, he can tell by the way she’s grinning, almost proud but still full of her usual quiet humor. Sometimes he wishes the whole world could see the side of her she shows him. But maybe it’s all the more special that that grin of hers is just for him. 

He sets down his glass, trying to ignore the heat eagerly coursing through his body. “Of course, Lucretia. I’ve been wanting a break too.” 

She closes her journal and hands it to him, and she picks up her charcoals and pastels. Certainly not so much that she couldn’t carry it all herself. 

When they pass through the doorway into the body of the ship, she nudges him with his hip. “It’s nice to get out of there, isn’t it? Even the twins didn’t bother trying to include me.” 

He chuckles. “You were drawing the whole time.” 

She glances down at him, a crooked smile on her lips. “True. And that time Magnus threw my notebook planetside to get me to dance with him, I thought I was going to kill him, or at least make Lup do it.”

They pass through the kitchen (on the table? of course not) and the common area (the couch sits meaningfully under the window). Davenport slows in the hallway (they’d have to be quick of course, and he’d die if anyone found them), passing Lucretia’s notebook to the other hand. 

She lingers by her door and looks back at him. He fidgets again, shifting his weight under her gaze. 

“You’re adorable,” Lucretia says, amused. “We both know you’d hate it.”

“I would,” he says breathlessly, and the anticipation is almost painful as she opens the door. He follows her into her quarters, and in an instant, she shuts the door, dropping her supplies and pinning him to the wall, her slender body and delicate hands pressing him hard, holding him up with ease, and they kiss the way they only do after finding the Light, after saving a plane. 

She casts Zone of Silence, and her blouse, the pretty new one with flowers embroidered on the collar, quickly becomes unbuttoned enough that he can touch her chest, and somehow she gets his dress pants and underwear down far enough that two of her fingers can slide inside of him, slender and delicate as the rest of her, yet somehow decisive and strong when they’re nestled there.

“Imagine we’re on the kitchen table,” Lucretia whispers. 

His cunt pulses, gripping her fingers while she moves, and he clutches at her, dizzy. It’s one thing that she can read him so perfectly, another for her to bring it up like this. “Fuck you.” 

“I’m busy fucking you right now, but maybe later.” She kisses him, and when she pulls back, she’s grinning again. “What about the common area? Anyone could walk in on us. You don’t even let me kiss you in there. Don’t let me sit too near or they’ll know you have _ needs_. They’d see you enjoying being used, loving it.” 

He groans, his hips rocking. Her fingers twist, and his body lurches against hers, but she presses him hard back against the wall. She’s panting nearly as heavily as he is. 

“Then they’d know,” she says, and Davenport squeezes his eyes shut. “You like that, don’t you, slut? You want them to know, don’t you?” He nods, and he can only barely feel her warm breath ghosting over his neck as she braces her hip against him, one arm wrapped around a thigh and the other fucking him (three fingers now, and he can _ hear _his cunt, the wet sound of Lucretia moving inside him). “You want them to know you’re mine,” she growls.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Fuck, Lucy, you forgot--” 

“I _ forgot?_” Her fingers twist again, and so do his hips (he’s painfully, embarrassingly close), but he clutches her more tightly, curling over, his face tucked against her neck. 

“What about the hallway? Lucy, can you _ imagine_...” 

He trails off, and it’s just sounds. Her fingers, his hole, his panting. He needs her to fill the rest of the space. 

“I can,” she whispers finally. “Like animals, rutting against each other. We can’t wait, we couldn’t care--”

“_Yes_\--” 

“All that matters is that you get off,” she breathes. 

Davenport’s hips jump, and he lets out a pitiful sound. 

“Can I?”

“Can you?” Her voice is low. 

“Please, Lucy. Please, _ please_.” 

Her fingers curl, and he groans.

“I’ll be honest,” she whispers, “I’d love to see you come.” Her voice is lower, quieter. He strains to listen. She hasn’t given him permission yet. He knows to stay quiet, and he fights to stay still, his hips still rocking as she fucks him. Finally, an order: “Touch yourself.”

His right hand leaves her back and hurries to his dick, and he rubs over himself frantically, clutching her with one arm, his eyes screwed painfully tightly shut while her fingers pump him, and it’s not long before he orgasms, messy and loud, and he shakes and cries out while his cunt convulses and gushes over her fingers. 

Embarrassing. Disgusting. But she kisses his cheek and coos about what a good boy he is, what a good job he did. She eases him back to the ground, and his legs are jelly. He clutches her for a few moments, his face pressed to her stomach, and she carefully lifts him again and brings him to the bed. She wipes his face.

“So beautiful,” she says again, and she kisses his mouth, and he is tired and limp but he kisses back. “So good. I love you so much, Drew.” 

She extracts herself and stands, briefly unsteady. He can see evidence of her need, but she busies herself gathering drawing supplies and arranging them on her desk one handed. (The other hand still dirty, still dripping with his mess.) 

“I love you,” he says sleepily, watching her. She glances over at him and smiles, setting the last of her pastels down. Maybe her diligence is part of why he loves her. Or of course it is. 

She opens a drawer, and she pulls out a flogger. The oldest one. Simple, made of worn black leather. She runs the tails over her dirty palm, and she looks over at him. He nods. 

When she joins him again, his hands run over her body. Her stomach. Her hips. Her thighs, smooth and sturdy and slender. He’s eager. The bulge in her pants is hard to ignore. She’s mostly dressed still, and he wants her bare.

“What can I do for you?” 

She shifts, and she pulls out her clit, stroking herself. “You’ve done plenty,” she says. He licks his lips, meeting her eyes, and she smiles loosely. She looks as tired as he feels. “I’m not up for much right now.”

“Do you want your ring? Or I could cast an Alter Self for you?” Davenport raises himself up, but she shakes her head. 

“It’s easier like this. I’m close…” Her hand lingers near the head of her clit, her thumb brushing precum over her slit, and she leans back slightly. Her eyes close, but he notices her grip tighten on the handle of the flogger. “Can you finger me?” she asks quietly.

He sits up immediately, kneeling between her thighs, eager to please. He kisses her sternum, her exposed skin, warmer than anything, and she hums, his cue to slide her trousers the rest of the way off. She strokes herself slowly, and he wants to bask in this, but this isn’t the time for that. He lifts her balls out of the way, and he watches her brow furrow at the touch. There’s nothing for him to say to make it easier. 

He casts a lube cantrip and eases himself into Lucretia’s opening. Just one finger at first, sliding slowly until he’s at his knuckle. She’s all around him, and his finger feels snug. Secure. 

Her lips part. She takes a breath. Her hand is a little more forceful over herself, but he tries not to look at that. It’s not what matters.

“Imagine that we don’t have the Zone of Silence,” she says, staring at him. “We have to fight to be quiet, but you can’t help yourself. Everyone heard you yowling like a cat in heat earlier.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, and she laughs, shifting closer to him. She’s out of breath, already panting. Every time he brushes against her spot, she whines. She grips herself tightly, her fist rough over her clit. 

“It sounded good.” He adds a second finger, and she shifts. She is so tight, so warm. Her hand stills on her clit, and he stares at her face, her eyes on his. “You always sound so good. I love when you’re loud for me.” She drags the flogger over his back, resting on his ass. 

He bites his lip, anticipating, holding back a noise. He can’t help stifling his sounds sometimes, but she does it, too. She’s shy. She doesn’t like hearing herself either, no matter how hot it is for him. 

Three fingers. His hand rocks more than thrusts into her, and Lucretia whimpers, snapping the flogger down over him.

He groans, bowing his head, and she moves her hand away. “Let me?” he asks, a formality. 

She rests her hand on his head and guides him down, the other still holding the flogger, the soft leather brushing over his ass, barely smarting. He takes her gently, his fingers moving slowly inside her, his tongue flat on the underside of her clit.

“Imagine if they knew,” she pants. He sinks down until he chokes, and he only pulls back slightly. She whines, bucking up into him, and he relishes it. The flogger comes down again, and he moans, squirming while he sucks her, the tails dragging over his raw skin like a caress. 

Imagine if they knew. 

She knows. She knows everything he needs her to know. 

She hits him again, and the pain sears through him, finally the rush of endorphins. He groans around her clit when she brings the flogger down a few more times in quick succession. The warm pleasure of pain and pleasing her washes over him, and the feeling is even better than the orgasm she wrenched out of him earlier.

Another blow, an especially heavy one. His whole body pulses, and his hips and fingers twist at the impact. She seems so close, but the movement draws a breathy laugh from her, a mix of amusement and pleasure. He pulls back for air, and he kisses her head, licking her, and she bucks up against his lips, gasping while he kisses and laps at spongy flesh. 

He looks up as he takes her again, his fingers still pumping inside her. Her lips are parted, and she’s staring at him. “So good. You’re doing so good, baby.” His body floods with contentment, and he hums, his hips shifting as the tails of the flogger run over him teasingly. The taste of her arousal coats his tongue. Her fingers run through his hair. She knows how much he loves this. “You’re mine, Drew.”

He closes his eyes and sinks down, gagging but holding himself steady, and she pulls hard on his hair, her hips jerking. She brings the flogger down on him again and again, the leather wrapping over his ass and the backs of his thighs, and he chokes himself on her as far down as he can, tears leaking from his eyes, the pain almost completely replaced by a warm numbness. This part is his favorite.

She finishes, gasping and grabbing at him, and he swallows, tasting her, familiar and salty and thick on his tongue. Her chest heaves, and as he extracts himself, she pulls him towards her and covers his face and neck with kisses. 

“I like being yours,” he says sleepily, nuzzling her.

“Good.” Her arms wrap over him, and he lies on her chest, still savoring the moment, her taste and touch. All that really matters is that she knows. What they have is theirs, and it’s nearly all they have. 

She reaches down to rub over his sore ass, the heat more palpable to him with her palm running over the raw skin. She dips between his thighs to check on him, and he’s sopping wet. Her finger slips inside with no resistance. He lets out a noise, and her free hand cups his cheek. 

She grins. “You fucking loved it.”

Davenport wiggles slightly, his cheek to her breast. He stares at the flogger resting by her hip, and he lets her explore his cunt for a few more moments before mumbling, “Rub my ass again.” 

“Brat.” She sounds amused. 

“It’s sore!” he protests, but he knows she’s fond of a little bratting. He wiggles again as Lucretia’s finger eases out. He’s eager, and he genuinely needs some soothing. But he doesn’t complain when she runs her slick fingers up to gently prod at his ass. 

“Does it hurt a lot, baby?”

“Not that much,” he says, reticent. He nuzzles her chest, and she coos and pets his hair with one hand, the other resting on his rear. His body aches, but more than anything, he’s already feeling the beginnings of sub drop. There’s a weird empty feeling inside even though his partner is under him and happy to shower him with affection. 

She moves deliberately, her hand running over his skin with more pressure than the average caress. “You made me feel so good,” she tells him, and he feels a sort of spark inside in his belly. “You did so well, Drew. Do you need anything? Water?”

He shifts, her palm rubbing circles over the sorer part of his ass. “I’m fine,” he mumbles. “We should go back out soon anyway, it’s been a while.”

She hums. “You’re right, but I really don’t wanna go out there.”

He laughs, the sound muffled against her skin. “Me neither. Imagine it, too. We left together, and then we come back together, all disheveled and smelling like sex.”

“Ugh, that’s kind of hot.” She giggles, and they shift but don’t move to get up. Her hand settles on his lower back, her long fingers splayed. “They do know by now, you know…” 

“I know.” 

“Not everything, obviously. Just, you know. On an intellectual level.”

“Yeah.”

She pulls him closer, and he moves forward until his chest is flush to hers. “They don’t know how much I love you. Or how much you love me.” She’s quiet for a couple moments, then says, almost contemplative, “How much you _ need _ me,” and she giggles again. “You don’t read as a needy guy, like at all.”

He hums. “Yeah, and I don’t let just anybody press me against a wall and fuck me.” 

She rolls to the side, taking him with her, and she looks at him searchingly before whispering, “I like being special... I like getting to see you like this. And, you know. Do things with you.” She smiles, a little meekly. 

Davenport kisses her, and he stretches when he pulls away, then casts Prestidigitation over both of them. She watches him sit up, and he tries not to grimace when he puts weight on tender flesh. 

The process of going back inside themselves doesn’t take so long. It’s easy on his end, just putting back up a couple walls and gathering every bit of himself inside. Looking presentable and keeping his face impassive. She seems to snap into her usual sweet, retiring self with little effort. 

Lucretia’s still watching him, snuggled into her bedding. The captain in him needs to leave, now, but the rest of him is tempted by the thought of a little more time alone with her. 

She’s his only solace. He should be able to take care of himself, but sometimes he just needs to be held. A break from responsibility, and the opportunity to lay affection on someone he trusts, to just put all his energy toward pleasing her, if only for a little while. He’s grateful for what they have, and he’s less ashamed of it now that they’ve fallen into something that feels so natural.

She makes it easier for him. More than any other partner he’s had, she’s nonjudgmental and caring, and though their lives hardly allow for anything like a real relationship, it all feels real when he’s with her. 

“I want to stay,” he says. “Maybe a little longer won’t hurt?”

She reaches for him, and he snuggles next to her, his face in the crook of her neck again, his lips on her skin. He could stay with her forever.

**Author's Note:**

> @peach_softy on twitter ✌️


End file.
